


Can't Be Exhumed

by jacksonwng



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Derek and Stiles are at school together, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Manipulative Peter, Pre-Hale Fire, Stiles as Paige, teenage!Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksonwng/pseuds/jacksonwng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek never meant for any of this happen. He thought this would make things better, was told that it would keep Stiles safe, and they could still be together. But he was wrong. So wrong.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Oh god, what have I done?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this gifset by mysnarkyself](http://queenofhales.tumblr.com/post/73109470333/mysnarkyself-teen-wolf-au-rewritten-sterek)
> 
> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own

 

“Is this…is this a joke?” Stiles demanded.

“What?  No,” Derek shook his head in negative, frowning slightly, “Why would it be a joke?”

“You hate me,” Stiles supplied.

It made Derek’s frown deepen. “I don’t hate you. Who said that I did?”

No one had, but it wasn’t as if it needed to be said. Ever since they had met during freshman year, when Stiles had first moved to town, during a basketball game, Derek had been less than happy with his presence. It wasn’t Stiles’ fault that he’d been leaning against the door that actually opened and when Scott left the locker room, he’d been sent flying into Derek, but the guy couldn’t seem to stop himself from making his dislike known.

They’d see each other outside the locker room after a game – Derek would glare. They’d get paired together for some of project – Derek would scowl. They’d sit in each other’s vaguely line of sight at lunch – Derek would look like the world was against him. It was stupid and petty and in turn that had made Stiles stupidly angry and petty, and now because they were kind of getting along for their art project, Derek was…what? Over it all? Willing to forget all the hatred for a chance of getting laid? Or maybe it was just a teenage prank that would hurt like a bitch because Stiles had feelings he never wanted and didn’t want to admit to.

But Derek looked genuinely confused. Like he couldn’t understand. He took a step closer and shoved his hands awkwardly in his pocket.

“Look, I know we’re not exactly close,” he tried.

Stiles snorted. “Understatement.”

“But I want to get to know you better. I have wanted to get to know you better,” Derek corrected himself. He smiled crookedly, “Look, if it goes terribly wrong then you have the right to walk out on me and never speak to me again, okay?”

“That a promise?” Stiles snarked back.

“Just one date,” Derek pleaded and god, Stiles wished he was stronger because he wanted to say yes. He really wanted to say yes.

The words left his lips on a breath and Derek’s face lit up in a way that Stiles didn’t even think was possible. He kept telling himself that it was just one date and when it went wrong, he could get up and walk away with his dignity intact. But he didn’t, strangely enough.  He had…fun and Derek was better than he had ever imagined and when they went to school the next day, and Derek held his hand muttering, “is this okay?” Stiles conceded that maybe it wasn’t a joke.

*

The first time member of the Hales Stiles met was Peter. He must have snuck onto the school, how or why Stiles had no idea, but he and Scott had come out of Chemistry, planning to meet their significant other for lunch, the designated couples time, when he’d seen the frankly gorgeous man, grinning his amusement at Derek from across the table, who looked more irritated than Stiles had ever seen him, which was saying something really.

“Who’s that?” he muttered at Scott.

“Hmm, oh, that’s Peter Hale, right? Derek’s uncle,” Scott supplied, “He used to be on the basketball team. He’s only a few years older than us I think.”

“Are all the Hales supposed to be that attractive?” Stiles wondered and Scott laughed, clapped him on his back and said he’d seen him in English.

Peter saw him before Derek did, and stopped, straightening and smirked dangerously, making Stiles feel awkward, like he was under a magnifying glass. Derek followed his gaze and everything about his demeanour lightened a little – which made Stiles grin real because damn did that feel good – and when Stiles sat down and slide his hand into Derek’s, his boyfriend held on tight.

“You not doing to introduce me to your friend Derbear?” Peter said charmingly.

Stiles stifled a laugh and glanced at Derek’s scowling face. “Derbear?”

“It’s a family name,” Peter commented.

“Please don’t call me that,” Derek begged. He sighed and gestured at the man. “This is Peter. My mom says that he’s family but I struggle to believe her sometimes. He’s just going.”

Peter placed a hand to his chest and looked at him with mock offense. “Oh, how you wound me Derbear, and in front of just pleasurable company.” He grinned knowingly, “He must be the Stiles that you’ve been talking about.”

“You talk about me?” Stiles asked happily, and Derek flushed at the tip of his ears.

“All the time. It’s like you’re all he can think about,” Peter teased.

“Peter…” Derek growled out warningly, his blushing deepening.

“Urgh, fine, ruin my fun. I’ll go, I know when I’m not wanted,” Peter stood up dramatically and swung his long legs off the bench. “Stiles, I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon and Derek, remember what we spoke about.” He winked and sauntered away. Derek frowned after him, eyebrows furrowed as if he were troubled.

Stiles bit his bottom lip worriedly and squeezed his hand to draw his attention back. “What was that about?” he questioned lowly.

Derek stared at him for a moment, before shaking his head and smiled reassuringly. “Nothing. It was nothing. He just had to remind me about…picking up something for dinner.”

“Oh.” Stiles nodded, a little unconvinced maybe but accepting. Maybe it was family business. If he needed to know, Derek would tell him, that he was sure of. He smiled. “Okay then.”

*

“Derek?”

Derek closed his eyes against the calling of his name and counted back from five to keep from racing out of there. To calm the wolf inside him that was snapping at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to break free.

_Because even the animal knows that this is wrong_ , the human side snapped at him.

“Derek…”

It’s the only way to keep him, Derek reminded himself. No human and werewolf relationship last longer than a few weeks at the most and Derek so wanted this to last. He needed it to. Stiles was so human. He was so much better than Derek in every way, smarter, stronger. It was a selfishness not to lose him. And Peter had reminded him that if he loves him, if he truly cares about him, then Stiles needed the power to protect himself. This was the only way.

_Since when you have believed a word that Peter said_ , the wolf snarled.  _He lies. Trickster._

But he’s right about this. Humans get hurt. If Stiles was a werewolf, he would be able to stay with me and still be safe.

_And when he finds out what you’ve done, he’ll hate you. Would you rather that?_

“ **Derek!** ”

He managed two seconds of hesitation before he took off. He could smell pain and fear and panic and Stiles and he ran towards it as fast as he could. Derek skidded down the corridor – the corridor where they first met – and Stiles was slumped on the ground at the other end, still and unmoving, and Ennis was towering above him and oh god, he was too late.

Ennis turned to him and bared his teeth threateningly. The beta in him wanted to cower and run away because there was no way he could fight an alpha, let alone one like Ennis, but he had to try right? This was his fault and he had to… _he had to do something_.

Derek tightened his jaw and rushed forward.

*

Talia hummed when she cooked. It was just something she did when she cooked or baked or made anything really. It was habit, picked up from her father, and it comforted her. Comfort was something she needed right now.

The position of alpha was a gift and a curse. She had this power, power that she knew that other wolves would kill for, but it meant that she was the one that dealt with the politics of it all, and with too many alphas in town, there’s was too much that she needed to mediate. Today was her day off. Today was for her.

There was a harsh knock at the door and over the smell of chili, she shouted, “Laura, get the door for your brother. That boy always forgets his key. He’d forget his head if it wasn’t screwed on tight…” she shook her head fondly.

Talia heard Laura bounce her way down the stairs, her footsteps on the hallway and the door swinging open.

“God, Derek, what did you…Mom!” Laura shouted scared from the doorway, and Talia abandoned her chili pot to rush to front door.

The scent of blood and poison rushed to meet her and her heart jumped in panic and her eyes flashed because if something had happened to her little boy…

Derek stumbled into the house with ripped clothes, soaked with blood – black and red – not all his, and with the body of a teenager slumped in his arms. The kid was pale, barely breathing, skin smeared with blood and it was hard to miss the red, raw bite on his shoulder.

“Mom,” Derek rasped out, “Help him.”

_Help him Mom please._


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Quick, lay him down,” Talia ordered, as she moved determinedly into one of the spare bedrooms in the Hale house. Derek stumbled behind her, Stiles’ body lolled in his arms, and placed the teenager on the bed as carefully as he could. He paused, panic and fear and blame coursing through him because Stiles just didn’t look _alive_ anymore. His skin was almost translucent against the blood that was draining from him and staining his flesh, his mouth open and lips chapped and eyes closed. If it weren’t for the fact that his ears were straining desperately to hear the sound of his heart beating, Derek would have been sure that he was gone.

Talia pushed him out of the way and he fell back. Laura with the first aid kit in her hand edged her way beside her mother and shielded Stiles from Derek’s view.

Rufus, Derek’s father, appeared in the doorway with a worried frown. “I smell blood,” he commented.

“The Sheriff’s son has been bitten,” Talia responded quickly, accepting the antiseptic gel that Laura offered her. She patted down the wound, open and ugly and raw, as carefully as she could.

“Who?”

“Ennis has his scent all over him,” Laura replied.

Talia growled low. “I warned him what this would do. Turning a human on my territory, what is he thinking? Just wait until I get my hands on him…”

“Will he live?” Rufus questioned.

“I don’t know,” Talia responded honestly after a long pause and Derek felt his stomach tighten uncomfortably because no, no, this couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t…this was supposed to help them, help Stiles, he couldn’t die. He hadn’t even known it was possible to die from a werewolf bite and oh god

“It’s my fault,” Derek muttered, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut against the burning of his tears, as if that could make it all go away. He wasn’t that lucky. Stiles’ heart beat thudded slowly in his ears and was it getting it slower? Please, please let him be imagining things. Please. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault…”

In the distance, he heard the muffled voice of his mother – “Get him out of here!” – and then strong arms were picking from the ground and his father’s smell surrounded him. In any other state of mind, he might have struggled and demanded that it be known that he wasn’t a child anymore, but right now, all he could do was cling to his parent, and listen to the heartbeat of the boy he loved as it slowed into silence.

 

*

 

The meeting was unexpected and sudden. Deucalion had been staying in Beacon Hills for a few months at this point, and never had Alpha Hale deviated from the agreed schedule when the three packs had come together at the beginning. He could hear the disgruntled murmurs from his pack, and from Ennis’, at having been summoned so late and without so much of an explanation. He met Ennis’ gaze and quirked an eyebrow, as if to question if the other alpha knew why they were there. But the man just dropped his gaze and muttered something to his Second, who scowled deeply.

“The rabbles are getting restless,” Clara stated as she took her place at his side, arms folded across her chest and body turned so only her alpha could see her face, “Do you know what this is about? Truly?”

“No, Talia didn’t grant me that knowledge,” Deucalion responded honestly.

Clara nodded with easy acceptance and glanced at the watch that was forever strapped to her wrist – a watch, he was pleased to note, that he had gifted her with when they had begun courting, a few months after her appointment to his Second – before sighing. “Alpha Hale is late.”

“An alpha is never late in their own territory, everyone else is simply early,” Deucalion reminded her and Clara quirked an amused smile.

“I should never have let you watch the Princess Diaries,” she muttered and shook her head a little in amusement.

Both packs smelt Alpha Hale’s approach before she appeared in the doorway, an imposing figure in flowing garments with an expression of fury on her face, and both sides of the abandoned mill snapped to attention.

She didn’t come accompanied by her pack. It was just her and her Second, Rufus Hale, whose expression was similarly stony. She took a few steps further into the centre of the people and when she spoke, her voice was hard and tight, like she could barely restrain herself from lashing out.

“When I granted your packs freedom in my borders, I did so under express instructions. I am sure you both remember those instructions, Deucalion, Ennis?”

“Of course Alpha Hale,” Deucalion responded smoothly and Ennis grunted his answer.

She rounded to Ennis with fury in her eyes and spat, “Then why, pay tell, did you disregard those instructions, and lay a hand on a human?”

Deucalion frowned and took a step closer, eyes narrowing on Ennis. “You bit a human? Are you insane?”

“Not just any human, the Sheriff’s son,” Talia elaborated, “We have lasted this long undetected because we don’t turn any more people than necessary, and we don’t draw attention to ourselves. My son carried the dying body of a sixteen year old boy to our home in hopes we could treat him.”

“So the boy is dead then,” Ennis responded finally, voice low and lips curled up with distaste.

“No,” Talia corrected, “The boy lives, if barely. He has not taken well to the bite, but that does not mean that he won’t survive it. But you seem to be ignoring the point here Ennis. Whether the boy survives or not shouldn’t matter, because he shouldn’t have been put in that situation to begin with.”

Ennis frowned. “I was given permission.”

“Don’t insult me with that,” Talia snapped angrily, “And don’t insult yourself. I told you that you weren’t to try and rebuild your numbers while you’re here and you disobeyed me. It’s only my permission that matters and I assure you I did not give it.”

Ennis’ jaw tightened but he said no more, which was probably the smartest thing to do. Talia did not look as if she would accept even an apology at this moment in time.

“I want both packs out of my territory by this time tomorrow,” Talia ordered, “Anyone still here by that point will be treated like any wolf invading my territory.”

“And what of the boy? If he survives, he is my beta,” Ennis insisted.

Talia’s eyes flashed a brilliant red. “Release your claim to him or start a war that you cannot hope to win. The boy is not leaving Beacon Hills.”

Ennis huffed and left with an angered arch to his shoulders, his pack filling out behind him. Talia started after them, as if waiting for the trouble to pass before she turned towards Deucalion, her expression softened slightly, although the edge of rage and frustration were still there.

“I apologise for having to end our endeavour so early,” she told him and tipped her head.

Deucalion returned the gesture. “It is understandable. This can wait a few more months, I think, when your troubles have passed. For what it is worth, I apologise for the actions of our fellow alpha.”

“It’s not your job to make amends for the actions of another alpha and nor would I accept them,” Talia told him. “Unfortunately, I must stand by my word and request that you leave with Ennis.”

“Of course. Do tell me how the boy gets on,” Deucalion stated.

“If you wish to know, I will out of respect,” Talia agreed.

The alpha’s parted ways, Talia and Rufus waiting silently for the last of the wolves to leave until it was just the two of them. It was then that Talia sighed tiredly, tension rising once more in her shoulders and her expression becoming haggard. Rufus rested a hand on his wife’s shoulders and squeezed comfortingly, and her own reached up to be placed over his.

“We must speak to the Sheriff,” he reminded her carefully, “John needs to know what has happened to his son, and what will.”

Talia hummed and nodded. “I know, but I do not relish in having to make that announcement. The poor man has been through enough. First everything with Claudia, and now this…”

“Which is why he needs to know, now more than ever,” Rufus stated firmly. He smiled encouragingly, “Be strong Talia, you can do this."

“I just wish I didn’t have to,” Talia added. She allowed herself a few moments of weakness, of just being Talia Hale, the mother, the friend, the human, before she straightened her back and became the alpha once more. “Go home, check on the children. I will speak to the Sheriff alone.”

“If you’re sure…” Rufus agreed reluctantly.

“I’d feel safer knowing you are there to watch our pups, should Ennis decide to try his hand,” Talia told him.

“Do you think he would?”

“At this point, nothing would surprise me.”

 

*

 

Stiles’ breathing was shaky. Deep and uneven, and then nothing for what felt like a lifetime before it would continue with a wheeze. Derek had pulled a chair to Stiles’ side, and since he’d been granted permission, he’d been sitting there, watching and holding his hand and silently begging for the teen to just wake up.

“He should be fine,” Talia had assured him when he had begged for an answer, and he clung to that like a lifeline.

He refused to believe anything else. His mother had never lied to him, maybe stretched the truth at times, but never blatantly lie. So Stiles would be pull out of this okay, even if right now, it looked as if nothing could wake him. He thought about trying though, reaching out and touching his shoulder, shaking him awake.  Maybe he could try talking, Stiles was in some kind of coma right? Speaking always seemed to help people in the films.

But would could he say? His mind was whirling too fast and all he could think was please get better I’m so sorry.

Derek wondered whether Stiles would know, know that he had done this. That he had agreed to…Derek swallowed around the thought and refused to finish it. God. His hand squeezed around Stiles’ and dipped his head to press a kiss to the back of his hand. He closed his eyes and prayed for a miracle.

He heard the light footsteps along the corridor outside, and then the quiet squeak of the door when it was pushed open.

“Derek,” Laura’s voice didn’t surprise him, “You’ve been here for hours.” Derek didn’t say anything, didn’t even turn around, and she continued, “You need to take a break. Have a shower, put on a change of clothes, eat something.”

Derek glanced down at his shirt, still stained red and black from when he had stumbled home, Stiles’ in his arms, and closed his eyes against the memory of Stiles’ laxed form, so weak and fragile.

He opened his eyes and looked back at Stiles’ hand, because right now, he couldn’t bare to look at his beautiful face. “I’m not moving until he wakes up.”

“That could be days,” Laura tried to reason.

“Then I guess I’d better get comfortable,” Derek snapped back.

Laura sighed heavily with frustrated defeat, accepting that her little brother couldn’t be reasoned with. Honestly, she didn’t expect him to be. If this had been the person she cared for more than anything attacked and hurt and lying on that bed, Laura would have fought viciously to stay where she could keep them safe. She understood she really did, but this wasn’t health. She could smell the pain and the grief and the guilt even more strongly than that of sickness and death that surrounded (and was slowly receding) from Stiles.

She took a few steps closer. “This isn’t your fault.”

Derek rolled his lips to suppress his bitter snort. Not his fault. Like she didn’t know. He had agreed to this. He…

“It is,” he told her, his voice weak and hoarse. He blinked and realised that tears were burning the back of his eyes, and he sniffed and wiped at them with the sleeve of his shirt. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t listened to…”

He could feel Laura’s gaze burning into the back of his neck, intense and suspicious and perhaps knowing. “Hadn’t listened to who?”

Reluctantly, Derek angled his head to look his sister in the eye. She looked angry, her jaw locked, and in the depths of her eyes, he could see what would only mean trouble. He didn’t answer straight away, just watched her, and she repeated the question dangerously.

She wasn’t his alpha, hopefully wouldn’t be for years to come, but his wolf still submitted to hers and he could feel the way Laura’s wolf was pushing him for an honest answer.

So he gave it to her.

 

*

 

John glanced at the clock on the wall. 8:56. Stiles was late. Over three hours late. Before he’d left that morning, Stiles had told him that he was meeting someone – John assumed it was that boy Derek, the one that Stiles didn’t know he already knew about – for a school project and that he’d text if it ran over.

John trusted his son. He did. So when Stiles was an hour late, it made him frown but tried not to worry because Stiles was always doing stuff like that – losing track of time and running over. It was normal, John told himself and convinced himself not to worry.

Another hour past and nothing. He called Stiles’ phone and got no response, just his annoying chipper answering machine message telling him to ‘leave words after the beep’. He left the message of course. No reply. So he tried again. Just went to voicemail.

He tried to breathe, tried to stay calm. It can’t be anything serious. It might be his night off but Beacon Hills is a small town and John is still its Sheriff. If anything bad had happened, he would know about, and his phone had stayed stubbornly quiet. Stiles was with Hale away. They were probably off…being teenagers (John refused to think too deeply into what that entails less he increase his blood pressure) somewhere.

They were fine. _Stiles_ was fine.

John looked at the clock again. 9:00. Maybe he should go out and look for them, just in case.

He pushed himself up from the sofa determinately and grabbed his keys as he passed the bowl on the stand by the door. He swung the door open and startled. On his doorstep, Talia Hale stood, as elegant as ever, her arms folded across her chest and a reassuring look on her face – an expression that would have done a good job of hiding her irritation and sorrow, if John wasn’t so good at his job. His hand slipped a little from the door frame.

“Mrs Hale,” he greeted.

“Please, Sheriff, call me Talia,” she told him gently.

“Talia,” he agreed, “What are you doing here?” He frowned worriedly, “Is this about my son?”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “We need to talk, Sheriff. May I come in?”

“Is this about Stiles?” he demanded to know.

“Please, Sheriff. This isn’t a conversation I wish to have out in the open,” Talia begged.

John’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, concerned, but he gave in to her request, nodding his head jerkily and stepping back, opening the door wider and giving her room to enter. Talia’s presence seemed to take up the whole expanse of the house, making it seem even smaller, shabbier, than it had ever been. She carefully examined the walls as she entered slowly, taking in the baby pictures that hung from the walls, the wedding photo of John of Claudia from nearly twenty years ago. John watched her for a moment, feeling on display, exposed to her all seeing eye, before he gave into his urge to speak.

“Do you know where Stiles is?” he blurted out.

“He is at my home,” Talia assured him, although her tone of voice didn’t make the feeling that something was wrong disappear. It was the same feeling that he had when Claudia had first gotten sick, looking up at him with wet eyes from over the toilet bowl. The same feeling he had when Stiles had left to play as a child and come back with a broken arm. The same feeling when he bundled up Claudia, so weak that she could barely stand up by herself, and taken her to the hospital, the day she had admitted and given only a few weeks to live. It wasn’t a good feeling.

“What happened?” he demanded, his voice low. His hand clenched into a fist at his side, a focal point for all the worry and anguish and fear, god so much fear.

“There was an attack at the school,” Talia told him carefully, as if she were choosing her words, “Stiles was hurt.” John’s widened and she moved on quickly, “He is fine, I assure you. My son, Derek, brought him to me and I did all I could.”

“Why wasn’t he taken to the hospital?” Behind his eyes, all John could see was his son hurt and injured, bleeding and broken, and he had been at home, being hopefully optimistic. God, if he had only gone searching sooner, would Stiles have been okay? Would he have been saved from…whatever happened to him? How badly was he hurt?

“Because hospitals aren’t equipped to deal with this sort of bite,” Talia interrupted his thoughts.

“Bite?” John’s eyes narrowed at the word, “Stiles was bitten? Bitten by what exactly? A coyote?”

“More of a wolf,” Talia corrected.

John laughed because he couldn’t help it. “No offense Talia, but there hasn’t been a real wolf sighting in California for nearly sixty years.”

“I said it was more of a wolf, not a wolf,” she reminded him, as if that made all the difference in him understanding what she was trying to tell him. In reality, it just made him more confused, angrier and more anxious to see for himself that his son was alright.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” John gritted out.

Talia rested her hand against one of the walls in the hallways, her fingers tracing the marks that had been engraved by Stiles when he was eight, and John had never had the time to get out. “Tell me John,” she spoke softly, her eyes drifting to meet his, “What do you know of werewolves?”

John squinted at Talia for a long moment, before he frowned deeply and shook his head. “Listen, I don’t have time for this nonsense. I just need to see if Stiles is-“his words cut off with a choked noise when the delicate features of the women across from him hardened and transformed into something…monstrous. It was the only word that John could think to describe it. Hair grew along the sides of her face, framing the twisted features. Her lips pulled back to reveal white canines and her eyes glowed red.

His heart pounded in his chest and his first reaction was to reach for his gun, as if this…thing was about to attack him. But she just stood there, a beast on the body of Talia Hale, and watched him. She was waiting, he supposed, for the moment when John’s elevated heartbeat started to decrease, to where he relaxed his stance just a little, before she allowed her face to return to how it was previous.

“I am sorry,” she apologised, “I didn’t want to spring it on you like that, but I doubt there was any other way to get you to listen. Not many people want to believe there’s more out there.”

“So, ah,” John licked his lips, “Werewolves?”

“One attacked your son. He was bitten.” She reiterated, and suddenly everything made sense to him.

“Does that…will Stiles…” he gestured to his face with shaky hands.

“Yes,” Talia told him simply.

John’s hand dropped. “R-right…”

She sighed and took a step closer to him, and it was all John could do not to put more distance between them. “I know this is hard for you to understand,” she soothed, “But Stiles needs you right now. This is going to be hard for him, in more ways than one, and he’s going to need you more than ever.”

John swallowed and nodded. “Take me to him,” he ordered softly, “Take me to my son.”

 

*

 

The first sign that Stiles was waking up was the little groan he let out. It was a noise that Derek would recognise anywhere, although that was mostly because Derek had spent too much time categorizing the sounds that Stiles’ made. It was the first time that Derek had looked up at Stiles for what felt like hours, and his eyes jumped this way and that, taking everything in, his grin starting to hurt his face, because _Stiles was waking up_.

Stiles swallowed dryly and his lips parted when he coughed pathetically. His eyelids fluttered weakly for a few moments before they flicked open and Stiles’ eyes, wonderful and amber and alive, appeared from them. He seemed confused at first, twitchy, his eyes darting around until they landed on Derek.

“Der…” he rasped out.

“Stiles,” Derek croaked out his name.

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Where…where am I?”

Derek clung to Stiles’ hand. “You’re at my house. You’re safe.”

He nodded acceptingly, eyes wide with naïve belief that made Derek’s chest hurt. And then his heart beat picked up again and he licked along his chapped lips. “I…I was attacked. That…oh god, that thing it…”

Stiles’ free hand reached up shakily to his shoulder. It was covered in a gauze now, the bruised and bloodied skin hidden from view, but Derek knew that it was only a matter of time before the wolf kicked in and the healing process took over. Alright, Derek could see the flicker of blue – oh god, it’s blue, why blue – in Stiles’ eyes as the wolf settled in its new home. Stiles’ fingers shook when they pressed to the bandage and Derek carefully moved the hand away, letting Stiles cling to him.

He peered at the wound concerned. “Does it hurt?”

Stiles shook his head in negative. “Why doesn’t it hurt?” he questioned, “It should hurt right?”

Derek didn’t know how to answer because that would mean telling him…he wasn’t ready for that. So he dropped his gaze to their hands, revelling in the way that Stiles clung to him, like a lifeline. It was sickening how much he enjoyed it.

“Derek,” his name was said softly and yet forcefully and Derek reluctantly looked up to meet his gaze. It was piercing and Derek couldn’t look away. “What happened to me? What was…it can’t have been a…” he trailed off, and Derek knew that he knew.

Of course Stiles did. The boy was a genius. It was an insult to think that he wouldn’t figure it out, no matter how impossible it seemed. Derek didn’t answer, just squeezed Stiles’ hand and told him, “Just wait for my mum. She’ll know what to do, what to say.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?” Stiles demanded.

“I…” Derek went to start when the door open.  Both wolves snapped to attention.

Talia stepped in first, and then made a move back to let the Sheriff into the room. The man’s eyes scanned the room before they landed on his son.

“Dad,” Stiles cried.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff replied gruffly and it took a lot of willing on Derek part to let go of Stiles’ hands and put some distance between him and the bed. Father and son grabbed at each other, hopelessly clinging. The scent of tears, salt and angst, filled the air heavily and Stiles’ hiccupped as his hands tightening in the fabric of his dad’s shirt.

Derek had done this. He’d broken them. His fault, his, his, his. His.

A hand settled on his shoulder, heavy and comforting, and drew him towards his mother’s body. Any other time, he may have pulled away embarrassed, but now he just clung to her, desperate for the reassurance that only a mother could give their child, and, eyes clenched, wished, wished, wished.

 

*

 

Talia cornered him later, when Stiles had fallen asleep and she’d gotten a camp bed for the Sheriff and ordered Derek back to his own bed, just for one night.

He’d been avoiding her, avoiding everything, but he knew what had happened. Her baby brother was way too smart for that.

“Why?” she demanded softly, the day having taken its toll on her.

Peter tilted his head towards her and smiled innocently.

She never did get an explanation from him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For more ficcery, follow me on tumblr: [queenofhales](http://queenofhales.tumblr.com)
> 
> Comments make me write faster :P


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